


Lust & Graces

by Nepheline (orphan_account)



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Rachel is alive and well, Slice of Life, Trauma Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Nepheline
Summary: An AU where Rachel is found before she dies, and recovers swiftly. Deciding that this is a sign that she needs to repent, Rachel decides to deepen her acquaintanceship with Kate Marsh, and gets increasingly involved in church talk - much to Chloe's chagrin.In the meantime, Chloe receives three new constants in her life: her childhood best friend, a prissy queen bee, and the dawning realization that her friendship with Rachel is less than what she would like to settle with.(Written in 2nd person, Chloe's POV.)





	1. Pilot

You burst into the room with more force than you originally intended, primed and ready to shove your way through whoever is visiting at the moment, if only for a moment of peace. Rachel is popular, and even more so now that she has made national news, so there has been a massive quantity of students and teachers alike from Blackwell coming in to talk, one by one. According to the nurses overlooking the visits, she has handled them with grace, milking every free moment granted to her as if she was truly that happy to see and talk to those people.

To your surprise, there’s nobody in the room. You had intended to kick someone out for some time alone with her, but the air is still, and the only presence you see is on the bed. She’s pale, dark circles under her eyes and her head bobbing slightly as if ready to fall asleep at any moment, but she still smiles with the power of a thousand suns at your nervous approach and lifts up her arms from under the blanket. You hesitantly extend yours, and kneel down to envelop her in a hug. Following her long absence, her warmth is appreciated.

Just mere weeks before she had vanished into thin air, you two had fought fiercely, something that could’ve been the last interaction between you. Her cold, irritated snips and your incandescent remarks just barely bordering on full-blown yelling before either one of you, or both, had marched off, seething with grief and hatred. You had deleted her voicemail, nonchalantly and sweetly asking you to reconcile over dinner of her treat, and it had been very easy to avoid her after that. 

Now, thinking back on it, you feel like a massive gaping asshole. 

Nevertheless, you smile, pretending to eye her up and down as if you haven’t already determined her frail state. “You look like shit.”

She looks at you for a moment, startled, before tipping her head back and laughing, a melodious sound even when laced with fatigue. Normally, she wouldn’t even hesitate a second to snicker or shoot the insult right back at you, but she looks almost unused to it now. “Thanks, same goes to you. I must’ve worried you quite a bit, huh?”

There are so many things to address here.

Rachel has almost always been untouchable, the one who enslaves the hearts of others and surrounds her own with bear traps. Wise, elusive and enigmatic, not even you thought she would be so naive to fall prey to the words of an older man, and even with Frank, you had only assumed that Rachel was just using him for as long as he can provide. She has lied swiftly and omitted details of her absence, and it looks like it has backfired massively, now. Once invincible and dreamlike, she looks fragile, small, mortal.

“Yeah. Um. Listen--” You start, but whatever you intended to say gets swallowed down into the abyss. Rachel looks at you, patiently, and cocks her head, clearly not intending to interrupt the non-existent train of thought. You didn’t want to have to bring it up, but you parted with venom last time and she almost died, and something in the back of your mind nags you to speak your mind, regardless of how much time you think you may have to offer it. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you. What I said-- that was not right.”   


You hadn’t noticed how tense she had been up until you finished your sentence, until she appears to relax her body with a dainty, quiet sigh. Then again, it has been very hard to read her, before. “I was a bitch, too, Chloe. You were my best friend and I didn’t even think to treat you as such. And all the lying… I think I kind of deserved it.”

Best friend. The words, simple and clean and genuine, send your heart soaring through the skies. “No, you didn’t deserve the way I treated you. You know what-- we both messed up. I’m just really, really glad you’re safe.”

You still don’t want to admit it, but you can thank David to high heavens for that. He and his invasive paranoia had lead to an early discovery and Rachel’s safety, and he’s been a little nicer since. You haven’t been calling him step-ass or step-douche or step-whatever insult you can think of, not out-loud, anyways, and he seems to notice the change. Maybe it was about time you two got along. 

Her hair was lively before the incident, shampooed through thoroughly and styled, but now it looks limp, framing her bony face, and her eyes look shineless. It’s a pitiful sight, but she’s still the most beautiful patient you’ve ever seen. It could be your own bias, or it could be the very fact that she just radiates perfection without meaning to.

Perfection. Oh, god. That’s exactly what she wouldn’t want to hear. It was one thing wedged into your argument that appeared to drain whatever trust she had in you.

She leans back, humming a single tune and resting her head on her arms. “I’m glad everything worked out in the end. I missed you. I missed everybody.” She frowns. “I feel bad for Nathan. Must’ve been really messed up in the head. At least he’s getting help, now.”   


Fucking asshole. Your blood boils at the very mention. “He can get fucked. Presfucked.”

She shoots you a look between poorly hidden amusement and a stern scolding. “Chloe!”  
  
“What? Am I supposed to like him?”

“No, but show some decency!” She’s laughing again even as she tries to deliver it with a stony face. You giggle, too. Rachel doesn’t use the word ‘decency’ if she’s being serious. Her vocabulary is extensive, but she’s never made an attempt to sound fancy or stuck-up. She’s just Rachel. Naive, human Rachel with a sense of humor.

Her laughter eventually fades into breathing, before there’s silence again. This feels more genuine than any other moment you’ve spent together, and you appreciate it. You’ve never really been silent around each-other, the two of you, but this time, it’s amicable and welcomed. 

She hesitantly breaks it. “I need to stop the weed.”

You raise a brow. “Where’d that come from?”

“Well… during the investigation, they figured me out. They got to Frank, too. They’re gonna be looking at me a lot. Making sure I don’t do it. Strict observance.” She moves her head to the side. “And it’s probably better for me, anyway. I needed to stop a long time ago.”

Well, fuck. If they got to Frank, there goes your supply. Your wrinkle your nose, trying not to look disappointed. It is for her safety, after all, and in a way, it’s probably good for Frank, too. He looks like a broken man that probably needs therapy for a slew of things. Even you feel a little bad for him.

On the other hand, you don’t owe him a cent anymore. 

“Okay,” You say, reluctant. You’re going to have to find a more productive pastime, or a different provider. “Anyway, when are you getting out?”

“Oh, soon. They’re just observing me to make sure I have no reason to die, and then I’ll be out before you know it.”

You grin. “Awesome. I’m treating you to Joyce’s bacon the moment you step out of the hospital.”

“With what money?” She shoots back, faux-innocently. 

“Don’t ask questions I’m not answering, Rach.”

 

You engage in some back-and-forth insults and updates on the chaos of the city before the nurse gently ushers you out. You wave goodbye to Rachel, and make a loud promise to break her out tomorrow and go into hiding. Barely containing her laughter, the nurse asks you to leave, once again, and you do, back into the corridors of strangers and shadows. Suddenly, it feels a lot more empty and cold despite the number of people marching on and about.

You check out and leave the building, slamming on the gas in your old, shitty truck and heading into the roads. Right now, you just want to be home. You’d like Rachel to be with you, but she’s unavailable, and home is the next best thing. Next to Joyce, and even her asshole of a step-father. You wouldn’t admit that, either, but after Rachel, you’re just a little bit worried that you might find them both on the verge of death and you won’t have had the time to say your ‘I love yous’ and gratitude.

Granted, the chance of that happening is close to zero, but you’ve been paranoid. Your life has been a rollercoaster of emotions for the past few years, and it doesn’t help that Arcadia Bay is a big dam of secrets just waiting to spill. You don’t know whether someone holds a grudge and enough power to act on it. 

 

Weird thing is, everything about this feels like a conundrum. 

As if something disrupted the natural flow of time. Like a glitched out video game that doesn’t bring you the intended ending. Even as you pull into the parking space, your surroundings feel empty and lifeless. You can still see the trees shake with the wind and the occasional car pass by, but it doesn’t feel the same. 

Maybe it’s just your paranoia speaking. 

You unbuckle yourself and drops down onto the ground, wobbling a little bit. You don’t feel sick, but there’s a sensation, a strong urge to get into the house as soon as possible and verify your reality. You turn the handle and push the door inwards, nearly stumbling in but managing to keep your composure all the same.

You make your way to the living room, where Joyce and David are seated, having a coffee in silence. Joyce turns to look at you, macchiato in hand, smiling.

 

Despite all the shit you’ve put Joyce through, she’s still cheery and kind. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s Rach doing?” She asks, confused at the look on your face. You don’t know how you look, but it must be a little bit scary for her to react with bewilderment. Both Joyce and David look weary, like they’ve been having a hard time sleeping, but not as severe as Rachel was. David avoids your gaze.

“She’s alive.” You breathe, glad to be saying the words out loud. Everything’s normal, and everyone’s alive. It’s tense, sure, but after all the chaos, why wouldn’t it be? Everything that matters is taken care of. “She’ll be out soon. Her mom will be keeping her under tight lock, probably. That woman is scary.”

You remember the first time you met her. Blonde, curvy, and walking with a stuck-up elegance. She had looked at you once, twice, and made a backhanded comment before walking off. Rachel had told you not to mind her, but she’s got a subtle ferocity in her that scares even you, a little bit.

You walk into the kitchen, scouring for leftovers while Joyce talks absently, either at you or David or both. Either way, you’re not really listening. You settle with a dish of half-eaten, cold omelette, and approach the table, placing the plate on top and diving in as soon as you’re settled into your seat. It’s about time you settle into normalcy.

David and Joyce shoot each-other a look, and then turn their gazes on you. You have wolfed down most of your dish before you notice that they haven’t returned to their chatter. You look at them questioningly before Joyce finally speaks up.

“Are you still considering it?” She asks, evenly, crossing her arms. 

You groan. “They won’t accept me back even if I wanted to go back. And I told you I have a job lined up at Kenny’s.” 

“I can’t pull strings, honey, but Mr. Wells was very understanding and might agree to accept you back in if you’re on your good behaviour. No scholarship, but I think I can depend on you not to disappoint me.”   


“I don’t want to.” You fold her arms to mimic her and her stubbornness. “If they can’t handle me at my worst…”   


“Chloe,” David cuts you off, and anything amiable you might have had towards him quickly dissipates. “That’s not what the sentence means. You need to be on your best at all times when in school. You choose to be on your worst.”   


“I don’t want to, okay?!” You repeat, your voice loud. You’re not yelling yet, but Joyce looks like she’s ready to handle a tantrum. “There’s nothing that I like about this school. Everyone is elitist and the courses are a goddamn joke. They kicked me out, there’s nobody who would be particularly happy to see me back in.”

“Rachel would.”

You stop, trying to decide whether this conversation is supposed to be a joke, but she continues. “She’s been through a lot, Chloe. You’re her closest friend and she’ll need your support, and you’ll be able to spend more time with her.” She pauses, and adds, “And you just picked the wrong course. We can move you to something more compatible. You’re good at art. Why don’t you do art?”   


With years of having to deal with you, Joyce is more than prepared to appeal to your emotion and responsibilities, few that you may consider them to be. You roll your eyes and sink into your chair, and she’s not finished yet. “You’re still young. You’ll regret not finishing high school when you’re older. Trust me, I almost did that and I had to forge on.”

She’s lying. Joyce was diligent in high school, never once missing a single piece of homework. Still, you’re tired of this conversation, and more time with Rachel sounds admittedly nice. “Okay, _fine_ , I guess I’ll go. Just don’t go on about sucking up to Wells about it.”

“Remember. Best behaviour. We wouldn’t want David here not being able to do his job because of you.” She’s stern, but sounds excited, and almost immediately stands up, phone in hand, and dials a number as she walks away. All in all, it’s not actually a bad idea. The only thing you had to combat your boredom was Rachel and vandalism, and you’re a little excited at the idea of having your own room, completely undisturbed, again.

The inevitable confrontation with the teachers, not so much.

You engage in a short staring contest with David until you finally stand up, pushing your plate further onto the table, and leave.

You have a distinct feeling you might regret this.


	2. Beginner's Guide

You’ve had awkward moments before in your life.

Your mother finding you with a blunt for the first time. Your introduction to David. Making a half-assed joke that nobody took the moment to understand. Your first night out with Rachel.

This deserves a crown and takes the fucking cake.

Though David had been in the room, he’d had to leave quickly after, leaving you trying to stare holes into Mr. Wells’ soul. He appears to be doing the same thing as you sit in genuinely uncomfortable silence. If this man hadn’t been trying to appear like he has the patience of a saint – which he most certainly doesn’t – you could’ve sworn he would’ve reached out and tried to strangle you right there and then just for being in his presence.

By all means, he’s one of the least favourite people you know in the world. Shady, unprofessional kiss-ass. You can have more than one nemesis, and he and you were sworn the moment you were caught doing inappropriate grafitti in the girls’ bathroom.

He strums his fingers on the desk. “Chloe.”

 _‘What, baldy?’_ is your go-to answer at first, before you recompose yourself and smile as fakely as humanly possible. He obviously sees the insincerity, and you want him to. “Mr. Wells.”

He obviously doesn’t want to do this.

Following the arrest of Jefferson, someone had dug in, finding you to be one of the future targets. It’s easy to milk the pity out of a troubled teenage girl, now with an actual excuse to be moody. It would go against his personal dignity to deny re-entrance of someone so obviously hurt and traumatized by the very idea of being used in such a disgusting project.

You don’t care that much, actually. You weren’t the victim there, but if it fits somebody’s quota, you’re not going to complain and deny.

“I understand your primary concern is for Ms. Amber.” He begins. Understatement of the goddamn century. “I cannot let you back in just for that alone. I could very well make the argument that you’re affecting her grades due to your past behaviour. You need a better argument.” He narrows his eyes. “Why do you think you deserve a second chance at Blackwell?”

You’re not that far off from murder. He’s baiting you, of course. This man is greedy and not very intelligent, but there are things he’s learned from you and every other manipulative butt he’s had to deal with in his life. If Joyce wants you on your best behaviour, you’re going to stretch it.

“I have changed, Mr. Wells,” You say with mock-sorrow, and put on your most convincing serious voice, which, in retrospect, sounded more like mockery than it did genuine. “I realized that I’m wasting my life by expressing my anger towards the institution, and you. There’s so much that I could learn from Blackwell, and I would like to make the most of it.” Eyelash flutter. “If you’ll let me.”

He smiles, entirely unconvinced. Joyce knows very well that you will never be good enough at your best behaviour to actually tug at his heartstrings, so this is the closest that you can manage. He shuffles through his papers in an attempt to look busy and looks away from you, but you keep your eyes fixed firmly onto him. He returns your stare, finally.

“I hope you’re not bluffing.” Ray looks dejected. “I’m going to do this for you, and hope that you don’t mark it as a mistake that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” A sigh, and another tight-lipped smile. You don’t hold your breath. You know what’s going to happen, and even if it somehow doesn’t, you’ve tried. “Welcome back to Blackwell, Chloe Price. You’ve come in the midst of the semester, so you’re going to be doing a lot of catching up, though. Don’t skimp out.”

Of course. You offer your biggest, most enthusiastic-looking grin and thank him profusely, an ingenuine caress to his ego.

There could’ve been better schools. There ARE better schools. Right now, you need Rachel, and Rachel needs you, likely. You can worry about the other details in your spare time, and you can definitely handle not defiling the school for a little while before you’re both out of it. He and you handle a few pieces of necessary paperwork that you sign without complaint, and then you take the cue to leave.

As you approach the exit, you dial Rachel’s phone, relief rushing through you when she answers, her voice a quiet wisp. It had been booming, once, and that had been her normal tone.

“Rach, I got back in Blackhell.”

She seems to pick up her excitement. “Who did you blackmail?”

“Oh, just Mr. Hells, emotionally.” You say as nonchalantly as possible. “Nothing big. You out yet?”

“Almost. I’m excited, but I’ll have to do a lot of convincing. Mom doesn’t want me to go back. Thinks everyone at school could be a psycho.” A sad pause. “Like him. Anyway, she’s gonna make the call to Wells and pull me out. I’m gonna fight it all the way."

You shudder at the very thought of that woman’s existence. Both you and Rachel know she dislikes you with every inch of her skin, so you had just stopped coming over. “Wait, aren’t you like, a legal adult now? What right does she have to pull you out?”

“Um, I don’t know. I still gotta stay on her good side until I’m done and I can go somewhere else. Oh, shoot, she’s coming in. Gotta go. Call me later?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll call you. Bye, Rach,” You reach to end the call, but your phone beeps before you can do so and closes the phone application. With a sigh, you tuck your phone back in your pocket. You may have loved Joyce, but you’re now even more grateful that she’s not as controlling as she could’ve been.

You remember your first days at the school. Not the ones coming up, but the actual first days where you had waltzed in the dorms, still bright-eyed and hopeful, over-decorated your room and diligently took notes during your classes. Even back then, you had stood out. Crowds of elitists and people who have already formed tight friendship circles, and both at once.

There’s somebody who would’ve made the days of loneliness much easier, but she’s gone now, and just thinking about her makes your blood boil. Her old number lingers somewhere in the depths of her phone contact list, undeleted.

You climb into your car and plug in your earphones into your smartphone. They dig into your ears as you settle them in and swipe through the playlists on your phone. You tap one and lean back, letting the music pour in, filling in the white noise and giving you a moment of relaxation. It’s a playlist you and Rachel had picked out together, with most picks being yours. Friends you may be, but you can’t stand some of her musical choices.

 _Tell me, do you feel ashamed, though?_  
_How you've turned your back on me?_  
 _Please, tell me why'd you go this far,_  
 _and who the hell you think you are?_

You tilt your head further back, enjoying the beat drumming in your skull. It’s hard to be left on your own thoughts with music, so you leave it on while you start up the ignition. The whirr of the engine mixes with the song just as it transitions into another, and you drive off, a little clumsily, and back onto the streets.

The drive home is peaceful, with little traffic and problems. You park, striding confidently into the house, now empty and silent, save for the soft thuds of your shoes on the floor.

It had been a warzone once. With Rachel in tow and much louder parties and places to attend, you had stopped considering it altogether, unless it had been to fight with David or Joyce for one thing or another before self-medicating, going to sleep, or just barricading yourself in your room if you needed your solitude that much.

You don’t want to admit it, but it bothers you to look at your own home now.

At least with the arguments and grudges, it had had noise. With William, it had definitely had noise, laughter and the loud chatter of four, or three at worst. Now, given everything, it’s way too quiet. You trudge upstairs and into your room, still messy as ever and with an ever-lingering odour, and pull out your phone.

Rachel is much quicker to reply. “She finally caved, Chlo! I was worried she’d be difficult to deal with, but that came quick.”

You shift your shoulder to keep the phone pressed to your ear as you haul a large suitcase onto the ground. “Sweet! I’ll be moving back in shortly and we can get the party started once again. Man, I don’t miss Blackhell, but I sure missed having you around.”

There’s silence on the other side as you squeeze carefully chosen articles of clothes in, and you would’ve thought she hung up had it not been for the low, short breaths. “I’m not gonna be doing anymore parties.”

“It’s fine, me neither, probably. Why? Birthgiver got you on a leash for that too?”

She always laughs at that term.

Not this time, apparently.  

“Relax, Rach, I didn’t mean that in that way. I meant it will be a blast to spend time with you again. You don’t hate me, do you?”

“No!” She scrambles, uncharacteristically, “No, god, I didn’t mean that. Of course I’m excited. I need some human interaction. Hospital is driving me crazy and I can’t even imagine being cooped up in the house. I just don’t…”

“What’s the problem?”

“Chloe…” Rachel sounds very reluctant, and your heart drops right at your feet. It’s not hard to think of the worst. “I like spending time with you, but a lot of things we had in common has been… well, things I’m not going to be doing anymore.”

“That’s all? We can find us a new hobby, if that’s the problem.”

Her voice is shaky. Your chest feels a little tight. “But you liked—“

“I don’t care what I liked. You’re important to me, and I’ll be there every step of the way for whatever you do.” Your words come out as a flurry, fast-paced and worried. “Don’t worry about me.”

She’s crying. Full-blown sobs muffled with her own effort and distorted from the phone’s speakers.

You panic, unsure whether to try and console her – would she hear you? What would you say, anyway? You’re extremely bad at comforting, and Rachel is usually tough as a bear, grinning or scowling at worst through inconveniences and problems. She just doesn’t _cry_.

Or is it laughter?

No, it sounds too irregular and breathy for laughter.

“Oh, god, Chloe.” She sniffs. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”

“Don’t come over.” She snaps back, her voice watery. “It’s not long anyway. Sorry, I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” You assure her awkwardly, mentally reminding yourself to resume the packing as the suitcase lies in front of you, forgotten for almost an entire minute. This is really hard to do over a phone. For a moment, you hear the distorted voice of somebody else, and then the call ends with another beep and no other warning.

You bite your lip, messily arranging your items in and pushing the top downwards when it becomes too chunky to zip up. You can’t believe there was a time you actually yelled at this girl and actively antagonized her, and your mind is a mess of numbed guilt. Try as you might, you still can’t picture her like she was just a moment ago, tired and tearstained. In your mind, she’s still a smiling sweetheart with colour in her cheeks.

You’re vaguely aware you’re going to have a hell of a change of vision soon.

You stretch out, cracking your shoulders a little, and stand up, lightly tapping the suitcase with your foot as if you intend to kick it. Joyce has been kind enough to take care of the toiletries in advance, neatly wrapped and scribbled over with a little heart. You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.

You don’t hear Rachel the next day. She doesn’t call, and you don’t, either. It’s a blur of movements from one place to another, with Joyce coming with you to the dorms and actively sabotaging your efforts to be as careless in the car as possible. You meet with the staff – some new, smiling at you politely, others perfectly aware of your reputation and wary.

You shoo Joyce out and lock the room in before anyone has the chance to speak to you.

The next few hours are a nice distraction, with a lot of changes and moving around of furniture. The bed stays the same – plain and slightly uncomfortable looking, but you decorate it with a custom blanket. It’s a lot smaller than your room at home, and you feel inexplicably more vulnerable, so you draw the blinds, blocking out the majority of the sunrays gracing the room.

And it feels weird extraordinarily weird to be back. You’re not glad for it, but it’s a start to the new you.

Yeah, right.

As you peek out of the room, you appear to draw the attention of a silhouette, vaguely familiar looking and threatening as she starts walking up to you almost immediately. You shut the door behind you and lean on it, squinting your eyes at the figure, feminine curves and a scowl coming into view.

“Price!” She hisses, obviously looking very enthusiastic to see you. She’s a woman of sneering and yelling, not actively _trying_ to look territorial like some kind of an animal.

“Hi, Chase-off.”

“What are you doing here?!

“Studying.” You deadpan.

“Sure you are. You got expelled, remember? Or do I need to pound it into your head? You’re not welcome here.”

“I am very much welcome here, Victoria. Ask anybody! I’m back with you, whether you like it or not.” You grin at her. She’s incredibly easy to rile up, especially when it comes to you. She looks like she might pop a vein – an ugly sight, but not uncommon.

Two other figures join her, one rubbing her eyes in confusion and fatigue. Does everyone look tired recently? You look them over with vague recognition.

“Who’s that? Your pets?”

“It’s called having friends, hardass. You should try it sometime.”

It’s just as easy for her to rile you up, too. You glare, trying to look as menacing as possible, and the blonde crony stares you down from behind Victoria. It hasn’t even been a day, and there’s the first-year shit all over again.

“You know, for someone who wanted to fuck her psychopath teacher, you have a lot of nerve to say that.”

A gasp from crony no.2, and Victoria’s face hardens with misery. You almost come to regret it until she raises her hand and promptly hits you across the face, leaving your cheek stinging, and you reeling back in shock. You retaliate by reaching to grab her arms, only to grab empty space instead as she’s pulled off from your reach.

There goes being on your best behaviour, strike one.

“She’s not worth it, Vic,” Crony 2 murmurs gently, and Victoria shrugs her off from herself, taking a few threatening steps forwards you. You ball up your fists, ready for defense, but she looks more distant than she does angry. You hold your breath, and after looking at you for a few seconds, she just barges past you.

“Great job, hardass,” Blonde crony barks at you at you, indignantly lifting up her chin. “That was very sensitive of you.”

“Hey, she started it, and it’s not like I’m lying,” You grumble, folding your arms. “I was in the list as well, and I’m not whining about it.”

“Do you have any empathy? She trusted him as an authority figure that’s supposed to keep everyone safe, and then he fucks everyone over. That shit upsets people, Price, in case you didn’t know.”

“Empathy?” You sneer, “ _Empathy?_ You’re fucking delusional. You don’t get empathy when you don’t offer any in the first place.”

Her eyes widen a little, and she opens her mouth to speak, then quickly shuts it again. She draws a deliberately long sigh, watching as Victoria and her brunette friend fade out of sight, but oddly enough, doesn’t move to join them. “What problem do you have with Victoria?”

“The question is what problem does she have with _me_? She’s hated my guts ever since I first stepped in.”

“She does that sometimes. You just have to be careful to be on her good side.”

“No.” You chime in. “You don’t get respect. You earn it. If I wanted to stay on her good side, she should’ve shown it to me. Why do you keep defending her when you know what she does is wrong?”

She just looks at you, face unreadable, but not unkind. “She has mellowed down a lot since Jefferson’s arrest. If you wanted not to be enemies, you could very well not be.” She peers over to the door down the empty corridor, then back to you. “Gotta go.”

She’s out of the building before you can comprehend the conversation you just had.

Maybe you _have_ been insensitive, but regardless, Victoria Chase is not your priority. You’re here to get your education, support Rachel in recovery, and leave, and if you have to take the ‘high road’ and ignore that little blonde bitch whenever you cross ways, you can very well handle it until you’ll never have to see each-other again.

And if that’s your introduction back to Blackhell, so be it.


	3. Category

You’re hunched over a stained second-hand book – an embarrassing position for you to be caught in – your eyes absentmindedly glazing over the words like they’re flying birds, when there’s a knock on the door. You perk up, almost immediately realizing that you haven’t soaked in a single word. Self-teaching isn’t your strongest skill. It’s not even weak. It’s practically non-existent, unless you count things like learning how to dye your hair through trial and error.

You’d been so convinced you would know what you’re doing and so confident, and then you had failed so miserably that even Joyce had dejectedly offered to help you out so she wouldn’t have to see bright red all over the floor that she knew you wouldn’t willingly clean up. It was at that point that you had learned that red is not your colour.

Doing trial and error with studies is almost non-existent.

Fucking literature.

You shut the book, pick yourself up and open the door just enough to be able to peek.

One side of blonde hair and a hazel eye.

Although you’ve seen her around the school since your re-admittance, you had been busy, more or less forced into catching up, and the few times she had been in your sight, you hadn’t been able to talk. Oddly, you didn’t see her in your classes, and the one time you did – just yesterday – your teacher had glared at you when you had attempted contact, and she’d been swept away the moment the bell rang.

And now she’s here. Before you can open the door to let her in, she swiftly pushes it forward in a much more graceful version of forcing herself in. You grin. That’s just the way you like her.

She gives the room a sniff. “Well, that smells clean. You’ve gotten better at covering up! What is it this time? Febreeze?”

Looking at her now, you would not believe this is the same girl you heard cry over the phone. She’s still pale, but appears to have slept much better, and the dark circles are now hidden under a layer of corrector. It’s refreshing to see her apply makeup again. She smiles at you, cocks her head, and turns it around to study your room.

“I said I’d stop,” You speak. “I’ve been craving it a hella lot, so that sucks.” Without the familiar taste of smoke, you’ve had very few outlets of stress relief, and stress balls can only do so much before you smash them against the wall and never touch them again. Then again, you’ve never heard of anybody using stress balls for actual stress relief AND reporting it as a success. Meditation and sports were just simply out of the question.

Maybe you do need therapy.

“Nice decoration. I see you’re still sticking to your style.”

“Oh, yeah, I had to tone it down. Can’t let Mr. Hells find out I’ve been anything but,” You bat your eyelashes and tuck your arms at your back, swinging your head a little bit, “ _Good girl_ Chloe, of course.”

She snickers.

“Sorry I haven’t been around. Everyone insisted on therapy. You know last time you called?” You nod reluctantly. “They saw that so I had to go. Blackwell wanted to be all super accommodating, so I didn’t really have much free time, or else I would’ve come see you immediately.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Do anything else in the meantime?”

She pauses. “Yeah, kind of. Mom made me cook with her. Said it was ‘therapeutic’ and stuff.” Her face scrunches up. “I burned macaroni, Chloe.”

You almost laugh, until you notice that she’s not smiling, having delivered her statement with a deadpan, and swallow down your amusement. She looks distracted.

“Hey, uh, Rach… I know this sounds awkward, but like… are you okay?”

She turns to look at you, biting down on her lip. You continue, “You cried the other day, and, uh, you know that’s okay, right? I don’t mind. I know I’m shit at making people feel better, but I could always… try…” You trail off, your resolve dying on your tongue. Damn it.

She falls into silence, as if unsure how to take your statement, her brows furrowed. After a moment, Rachel walks over to your bed and sits on the edge, like she’s not fully committed to sitting up properly, with her butt looking like it might slide off onto the ground.

You sit down next to her. She doesn’t look at you, and seems to be intensely focused on the wall. You lightly and rhythmically tap your feet on the floor to fill the silence, not knowing whether to wait for a response to a long dead question or bring it up again.

She beats you to it. “I… I don’t know, Chloe.” A pause and a sharp intake of breath. “I mean, yeah, sure, I’m here. I’m alive. I’m good. I’m okay. I’m fine, right? I’m fine.” With each statement, her delivery is more hurried, breathless, uncertain. She blows out air through her mouth, almost a chuckle, but not long enough.

“I don’t know why nobody thinks I’m fine. I’m fine, right?” Rachel finally looks at you. “You can see it, right? I’m fine. I don’t need someone telling me I’m not and then trying to deal with it as if I’m not. I was stupid that one time. Trusted somebody I shouldn’t have. And it’s over. I’m not dead. I’m over it. It’s done. See? It’s done.”

She hides her face in her hands, breathing steadily out loud. You stay silent, almost reaching out to pat her on the back, but deciding against it. She lets out another long sigh and lifts her head up, placing her hands in her lap. “Let’s talk about something else.” She smiles. You realize you know this smile. You would’ve known it from a thousand miles. “Yeah. How’s Blackwell treating you? Ruthlessly, I hear?”

You feel like she isn’t quite done talking, but answer anyway, a frown sewn into your features. “Yep. I think I’m on Victoria’s kill list, Ms. Hunt is out to hunt me, as usual, Mrs. Grant isn’t leaving me alone, and… yeah, no. I don’t know why I came back.”

“Victoria? She’s still bothering you?”

“Not really. She just really seems to hate me still.”

“Mm, yeah, we talked a little bit today. She was being nice.”

“To you.”

“I mean, we were in the same club, right?” A shrug. “She’s gotta acknowledge me, at least. What were you just doing? Algebra?”

“Oh, who fucking cares.” You throw your hands up in the air, already tired of study talk. “I can’t understand anything. Let’s do something else. Go out and… bother people, or something.”

She nods absentmindedly. “Sure. I gotta be out in about thirty minutes or so, so we’re not making this too long. What’s the first destination?”

You think. The dormitory has been empty today, with people shuffling out of the building and likely out of Blackwell for the daytime. You would’ve joined them, but David usually lingers around, quick enough to remind you to go use your time to study, and you don’t want to waste time dealing with this shit. “Let’s go and see who’s in first.”

You stand up, and she follows you, trailing behind. Truth be told, you don’t actually know how to bother people – you’ve never needed to. You’ve had Rachel with you, and you’ve always had something to do between the two of you. Now, she looks like she’s just going along with whatever you’re doing, and YOU feel like you’re just going with whatever you say.

As you leave the room, you just barely catch a glimpse of a leg going into a room, and a door being shut.

Perfect.

You approach the door and raise your fist, then knock daintily a few times. You peek at Rachel, grinning, and then say in your most pretentious, airy voice, “Room service!”

No response. Not even from Rachel. Maybe it just isn’t that funny, after all.

“Oh, come on, I don’t bite. Come on out!”

“Who are you?” Comes the muffled voice from behind the door. Low and feminine. Rachel sighs, lightly pushing you out of the way, and approaches.

“Sorry about that. Thought we’d make some friends, since I don’t think I’ve talked to most of you here.” Nice save. You feel a little ashamed at your lack of diplomacy, but hey, that was supposed to be a joke.

Out of the door peeks out a head of dishevelled blonde hair and green eyes blinking blearily at you both. She’s pretty cute, admittedly. Rachel offers her one of her trademark smiles and folds her arms.

“Hey, you’re Kate, right? Kate Marsh? I’m Rachel. We’re neighbours and I haven’t even spoken to you properly.”

The girl gapes at Rachel with her mouth slightly open in astonishment. _Yeah, buddy_ , you think, _me too._

Eventually, she seems to come to her senses, and looks you over, then moves back to Rachel in a few swift motions of the head. “Oh, um, hi, Rachel! And… Chloe…” You know each-other. Vaguely, but you do. She’s the one girl who tried preaching abstinence, and got really shy and withdrawn after the backlash. You don’t care much about her, but Rachel seems to, with the way her eyes gleam. “You—please come in.” She opens her door wide, and Rachel gives her a curt nod, stepping in. When you hesitate, Kate motions for you to follow, and closes the door behind you.

Her room is neat and proper, severely lacking style by your standards. There are a few posters spread around, some obviously Christian; a tiny desk in the corner, a bed shoved right by the door, and a lot of space in the middle. Light spreads across the room from the open windows, illuminating Kate as she steps into it, looking nervous. “Can I, um, get you something? I don’t have much right now. Crackers, apple juice…”

“Oh, no thank you,” Rachel chimes. “We just wanted to say hi. Get to know you. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

You look at Rachel, who seems fixated on the girl. It isn’t uncommon for Rachel to interact and be overly friendly with anybody she finds, but you feel a little tingling jealousy when she does it now.

Kate, as if in some kind of a trance, agrees immediately. “Oh, okay. What do you want to know?”

“Just your hobbies. Interests. Anything you’d like to tell me.”

“Well… I draw. I’m not very good at it, I don’t think. I’d like to work with children. Publish a kid’s book.” She hums. “I, well, I run bible studies in my free time. Nobody comes, but I try…” A nervous laugh. Rachel raises a brow. “And books, I suppose… I’m fond of Bradbury. I’m not very interesting.”

“Yes, you are!” You feel like a third wheel to a date. You stand at the side, watching Rachel reassure her, a little frantically. “You want to publish a book! That’s amazing! I bet you’re really good. You should show me your sketchbook! You have a sketchbook, right?”

“Well, I mean, if you want me to show you…”

You think it was a mistake coming here for all the wrong reasons.

Not wanting to feel left out, you take a peek from a comfortable angle as Kate lays out her book of some, admittedly, very good illustrations, even if too childish and colourful for your taste. Then again, she IS looking to work with children. Why are you surprised?

Kate blushes under Rachel’s flurry of praise, muttering a meek thank-you. She’s a little surprised when you offer your compliments, but accepts it all the same, looking genuinely pleased. You know this girl hasn’t had ‘friends’ over since her abstinence campaign.

You feel a little bit bad for her. She seems too down to earth to be so lonely.

Then Rachel brings _it_ up.

 “And… bible study, huh? You grow up with your religion?”

“Yes, actually. My whole family practices it. My dad says I don’t have to stick with it if it doesn’t feel right, but… I don’t mind. Brings me a little peace.”

If there’s anything you were going to say, it doesn’t come, and you stand in full silence, staring Rachel down. She’s quiet, save for something that she mutters, unintelligible to you. Kate looks confused – you look like you want this to end, and you do, so you speak up.

“Hey, Rach, didn’t you have to go for your—thing?” You gesture wildly, hoping she understands you, but it’s a little hard to convey what you don’t know she’s actually going to. Rachel looks at you, eyes widening.

“Yeah, you’re right. I gotta go. Thanks for hosting us, Katie,” She smiles wanly, and Kate rushes to the door, opening it to give Rachel passage. Rachel gives you and Kate a wave, another quick goodbye, and rushes off. You stay rooted to your place, against your better judgement.

Kate closes it. “So… if you don’t mind me asking, where did she have to go?”

“I don’t know. I kinda haven’t seen her in a while.” Therapy, probably. “So. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

You’ve spoken to people on your way, about assignments or otherwise, but having a full, actual conversation is somewhat out of your league at this point. It reminds you exactly why your interactions have been limited in the past. You’re an awkward delinquent with baggage and one single friend that had to get you out of your shell.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to talk about, but it’s too late to back out.

“You read books.”

“I do.”

“What usually?”

“Ray Bradbury. Also, uh, Orson Card.” She pauses. “He wrote Ender’s Game.”

“Oh!” Now that’s something you can comment on. Finally. “I’ve only seen the movie. How’s the book like? Is it different from the movie?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the movie.”

“Hey, that’s a shame. You should go see it.” _Offer to watch it with her, idiot. Makes a great opening for a friend._ You don’t elaborate on it, so Kate just nods lightly. You know she’s not even considering it and will likely never bring it up again.

Do you even need this girl as a friend?

You do need friends. Desperately. People other than Rachel. But Kate Marsh is eccentric, and there is genuinely no basis to a friendship. You have nothing in common.

Time for an excuse.

“I have to go back,” You grimace. “Gotta catch up on my studies, because the teachers hate me and I came in late.”

“Um- if you want me to, I can help? I’m caught up on the material.”

There goes your excuse. And you _do_ need help, and some human interaction. You don’t know where Kate’s patience ends, but you would appreciate something more than obvious dissatisfaction from someone trying to guide you. You force on a smile, and nod.

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized i forgot to add kate to the list kms


	4. Layout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe accidentally a gay

What you find out in the span of the next few weeks is that Kate has the patience of a goddamn _saint_.

She comes once a week, and you unenthusiastically pore over the material. Perhaps Kate would’ve been a teacher in another universe, or is simply training to be one, because she’s trying really, really hard to help you, and not once showing frustration if there is any. You’ve asked questions so many times – not out of spite, but no matter how hard she tries, there’s always a misunderstanding. She handles them with grace, and you’re still waiting for her to snap and tell you to do it on your own.

So far, so good. You’ve attempted small talk before, but she has either gently steered the conversation back to your studies, or given you yet another reminder that you two are simply not that compatible. Still, her company is not unenjoyable.

She looks like Rachel, in a way. The same shade of strawberry blonde and mesmerizing hazel eyes, although their charms are very different. Rachel is the wild wind tamed, while Kate has the quiet beauty of a small-town girl. She’s not much of a conversationalist, always with her foot dipped in her own world, never too alert. A dreamer, even if she’d deny it, just like somebody you once knew.

She’s a little bit wonderful, really.

Right now, she’s sat up on your chair, rubbing her temples while you lounge on the bed, watching her out of the corner of your eye. That’s usually your version of ‘hanging out’ – meaning Kate hasn’t quite left the room following your study session. You’re almost 100% sure that headache of hers is coming from having to deal with your stupidity. You don’t know how she does it.

Sometimes Rachel joins you, but not for long, and she has long finished her homework and portion of studying. She’s never around for long enough during the weekends, although very apologetic. She says she isn’t given a single moment of free time; you believe her. You know her mother and you know her divorced father. You’ve seen Raul before – a mild-mannered and genuinely warm man, although just as overbearing. He had been kind to you during your visits.

You wonder how he’s been recently.

“Sorry,” Kate breathes out, and you sit up, crossing your legs. “Long day.”

“What’s up?”

“Someone vandalized my room this morning,” She says dryly, and you wonder why she didn’t bring it up earlier. “Permanent marker and lots of toilet paper. I wasn’t even out for that long.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry.” Given everything, Kate is the most normal person you’ve seen. Kids are cruel, high-schoolers are cruel, and you think, guiltily, that you might’ve actually done the same had you known her before she withdrew into herself. You never did say you were a good person. “Want me to help clean up? You need to set up some hidden cameras. Like nanny cams. You know those teddy bears?”

“I should have been locking my room, and I wouldn’t need them.” She counters, turning the chair around to face you. “Thanks, though. If you can come help, I’d be grateful. I think someone put rotten eggs, but I can’t be sure.”

“Okay, that’s extreme.”

She smiles at you politely. There’s something really beautiful and really humble, and also really damn kissable with this girl. You could probably inch close, and she’d have the softest lips, velvet cheeks, and why the fuck are you having that fantasy right now?

Kate Marsh is an attractive girl. Not the kind of attractive girl you’d date, but a little bit breathtaking nonetheless. You can’t really blame yourself for being temporarily caught up in the moment. Girls are pretty. Some are cuter than others.

You lift yourself up. “Alright, let’s go clean your shit up.”

Kate’s suspicions about the eggs are entirely right. You can smell it as soon as you step in, and you spend at least 20 minutes searching every nook and cranny and hidden spot until you find where they’ve been tucked in. You express your disgust in unison, and she even laughs a little bit, although obviously discontent with having her room ruined.

Is that what it feels like to have a friend? It feels really nice.

You look at her, crawling through open spaces, her hair cascading down her back, and suck in a breath. This girl obviously needs company, and you do, as well. Common or nothing common, you’ve missed going out and talking with someone like a normal person does. You might as well give it a go.

“Hey, Kate.”

She emerges gracelessly, pinching her nose. “Yeah.”

“We should go out for a shake tomorrow. I know a good place. You like strawberry?”

“Tomorrow?” She furrows her brows, and you’re relieved she’s not being surprised at the act of you asking her. You need to have an outing somewhere, and if you can sneak past or convince David that you’ve been diligent, you wouldn’t be going alone. “No, sorry, I can’t. I need to go to church.”

That’s right! Of course she wouldn’t be in on a Sunday. You’re a little irritated, but it’s her right and it’s her routine. She pauses, looks at your face, and continues, “You can join me if you’d like! Rachel’s been coming along so you can probably—“

_What?_

“Hold that thought- Rachel does what?”

“Oh, didn’t she tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.” You’re trying your best not to look cross, but it doesn’t seem to be working in your favour.

“She’s been coming with me for Sundays, just to give it a try, I think.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Three weeks. I mean, three days. Kind of the same thing.”

“And she—why did I not know about this?!”

Logically speaking, you shouldn’t be that mad. You’re not Rachel’s parent – you don’t need to know what she does in all her free time. It was still her secrecy that nearly drove you apart a few months ago, and it’s not helping you now. Rachel is an open atheist, never quite caring enough for anything to attend it for long. She would toss ‘God loves you’ pamphlets in the trash after smiling in the face of whoever distributed them, and her family had been no more different.

Calm down. You’re being irrational about this. She has neither come to extreme measures like some people have nor do you have any right to be critical. You’re her friend – you should’ve been supportive. It’s a much nicer alternative to what she used to dabble in.

So why do you feel like your blood could boil your insides alive any moment?

Kate looks rightfully uncomfortable. “Maybe—maybe she just- didn’t think you’d be interested in going?”

She’s right, and she’s also wrong.

In either case, you force yourself to relax. There’s no need to get angry. This is such a minor non-issue that you would be laughing at yourself just for thinking about it.

“Sorry, I just thought she’d tell me about something like this. How’s she faring?”

“She seems really attentive. When she first joined me, she asked me if we can do it again. I’m surprised, actually. Nobody has ever been this… interested.” You don’t think you look all that scary this time, but her eyes still widen, and she rushes to defend herself, “I didn’t mean—I’m not forcing anybody! Rachel asked me where I was going and-“

“It’s okay,” You lift your hand up mid-air. “I getcha. Nobody ever forces Rach into anything.” Your last sentence stings, and you know exactly why, but you swallow it down. No need to get all sentimental about this. Kate looks like she’s had to come to her own defense numerous times, visibly relieved when you cut her off.

“Well, to answer your question, I’m not joining you, sorry. I’m gonna help you clean the rest of this up and take a long drive around. I’m really bored.”

“You could finish the section we started,” Kate offers, good-naturedly, but it just sounds condescending and unnecessary. You smile and shake your head.

“Nah, I’m good. I have time to catch up. Thanks, by the way. You’ve been a great help.”

Kate smiles at the compliment and ducks her head, and you immerse yourself in scrubbing off what the perpetrators have left. Although the smell of rotten eggs lingers, you make a quick trip back to your room and Febreeze the shit out of Kate’s room. She coughs a little and excuses herself out of the room to let the air settle.

This isn’t fun, but you would probably do it again.

You say your goodbye and make your leave from the building. Oddly, you don’t see David, but that’s his loss, not yours, and you stay true to your word as you manoeuvre your vehicle back into the main street. You don’t know where you’re going, or what you’re doing, but it’s better than being stuck in.

Your first stop is somewhere to eat.

The most obvious choice has always been the Two Whales. No other diner has ever matched Joyce’s cuisine, and you’re itching for a chance to brag about how diligent you are, and that you’ve been getting a friend of good influence. She’s going to be thrilled, and you’re a little tired of being the black sheep of the family.

Two Whales is warm and loud as always, with its regulars and some students that you recognize from your school. You slide into one of the booths, kick your legs, and lean back. Mixed chatter and clinking of dishes rings in your ears, familiar and welcomed.

Joyce smiles real wide when she sees you, only turning around to make a few deliveries to other tables. Once she approaches, you grin at her. “Hey, ma.”

“Look at you! Where have you been, stranger? I haven’t heard about you cutting class. Hm… is this a mistake in the registry?”

“No! I’m a different person now!” You insist, pouting, and she laughs out loud.

“Sure you are. Well, I haven’t heard a peep from the school, which is great! I’m glad you’re finally making effort. How’s Rachel?”

“She’s, um…” How do you say this? “She’s fine, I think. Busy as always.”

“I’ll say. I met Olivia and Raul the other day. Both looked very tense. I was going to ask about it, but I figured I better not.”

“Yeah, good choice. Anything new here?”

“Yes, actually!” Joyce sings, “but that’s up for me to know and you to find out. You’ll be really happy!”

You roll your eyes and sigh theatrically, “Mom, what…”

“I promised to keep it a surprise. Now, what do you want?”

God, you hate when your mom starts being cryptic. Joyce doesn’t seem any more willing to tell you, so you sigh resignedly and purse your lips in thought. “Bacon omelette.” She’s staring you down. “ _Please._ ”

Satisfied, she saunters off, and you’re left on your own again. It’s a cold comfort that Two Whales hasn’t changed at all. William or no William, friends or none, it still holds the same atmosphere of people coming in in their boredom, genuine warmth, people getting together for the sake of it. You stretch out, patiently waiting for your meal, and look out the window.

A boring sight.

You whip your phone out and dial Rachel’s number, as if suddenly remembering she exists. She doesn’t reply, so you go back to watching cars whirr by from behind the glass. You think you might need to buy a better vehicle in the near future, but that’s not something you want to take into consideration. Your truck hasn’t broken down yet, and that’s enough.

Your phone rings, startling you out of your reverie. Rachel.

“Chloe? I can’t really talk right now. What’s going on?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to church?” _Why_ did you have to be so accusatory? Damn, Chloe.

There’s silence on the other side for a solid moment. “Oh, jesus.”

“Yeah, it’s Jesus, isn’t it? You know I wouldn’t have been mad if you just told me.” That’s not a complete lie, but you would’ve been a little irritated at best.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you next week. You won’t believe what I’m doing right now.”

You groan. “Yoga?”

“Exactly! It’s kind of nice, I just… never really envisioned myself… doing it, you know? It’s just a trial, I don’t have to go again if I don’t like it. Plus, people here are pretty nice. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Listen, I’d really like to talk to you about this thing—I’m sorry I left it out. It’s just not gonna be here and not gonna be now. I’m in the bathroom and I shouldn’t be taking too long.”

“Call me back.”

You put the phone down.

You really don’t want to talk. You don’t really know _how_ to talk, and it sounds sentimental, and you’re just not good at being sentimental with somebody else, especially Rachel, who has always been the least emotional person you’ve ever known. Her voice had sounded somber, in a way that she only lets you hear it if it’s by accident.

Well, gods be damned, you’re her friend. If you have to teach yourself to be a therapist just so she won’t have to act like she’s fine all the time, you’ll do it. Granted, you wouldn’t take up a profession like this in a million years. Not enough empathy.

Joyce serves your dish, and doesn’t stay around you long enough to talk. You dig in, the flavour of meat mouth-watering, and make an attempt not to finish too quickly. Joyce has always scolded you for swallowing down food faster than you start arguing, and she’s right – though it’s not like it’s your fault that you’ve perpetually had the munchies and still retain a strong stomach.

You’ve really missed this place. Sure, you’ve come every other day, but you hadn’t realized how much you appreciate that it’s still up and standing and flourishing like it should be. Joyce looks happy for once, and even David has relaxed, and even with the tension of the discovery of the crimes and the substantial lack of trust, Arcadia Bay is surprisingly good at bouncing back.

You, however?

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about anything.

Everyone around you is growing, changing, loving, and you’re just an enigma, stuck in the middle of the flow of time. It’s a little sad, but you don’t mind it. You haven’t really changed for years now, and your good-girl-streak is likely only temporary. You’ll move out of sleepy Arcadia Bay and make your way somewhere in California, where everything moves.

Your lips twitch into a smile. Maybe you’ll change and thrive there. Maybe you’ll be accompanying Rachel, fulfilling a dream she’s always had. You’re an adult now, but not quite – you’re still not ready to act like it, and you’re not the only one. You have a long way until you accomplish something, but you’ll try.

For now, though, you have a meal to finish and a conversation coming, so at least that’s going on for you.


	5. Author's Notes

The bell ringing snaps you out of what feels like a long dream interrupted. You stay rooted to your place as your peers pack up and swiftly reach for the door, and your teacher’s voice still rings in your ears as she commands and reminds something you didn’t hear back then and haven’t heard now.

You really need to get your shit together. You don’t have _that_ much going on in your life that would warrant you spacing out so many times in one day. You barely even notice that the room is almost empty as you finally haul your bag up onto the table and start depositing your belongings back in. Textbook, notebook, pencil case. Like clockwork.

You don’t understand why you’ve been so nervous recently.

Maybe it’s just Rachel. That girl is comforting and stresses you out all the same. Light in the tunnel, cause of darkness. She obviously doesn’t mean to have such an image, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there for people to see. You stand up, eager to leave, but something blocks you, none other than Mrs. Grant’s booming voice, ever so slightly demanding.

“Can I talk to you, Miss Price?”

Fuck. There’s no way out of this. You’re either in trouble or she’s figured out something is wrong. Your teachers have always seen past your crocodile tears, but only Mrs. Grant has been able to read the atmosphere, _read_ people as well as she does. She’s regal and authoritative without even trying, a certain grace to her steps and the way she moves. Maybe that’s exactly why you don’t like her that much.

At least there’s no witnesses. All the noise is in another dimension right now, muted in the corridors.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“I didn’t say you were in trouble.” She raises a brow. “Why, what’d you do? Might as well confess.”

“I said what I said.” You don’t really mean to be that mean to Mrs. Grant, but she does get to your nerves and she knows it. “Okay, what is it? Don’t freak me out, Mrs. G.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I’m just worried about you.”

Worried? Who the hell is worried about you?

“What?”

“You’ve lost your spark.”

“Come again?”

“Now,” She sighs, her curls bouncing with the movement of her head. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know what happened to you. I wasn’t particularly pleased when Mr. Wells warned me that he’s taking you in again. Said you were obviously a liar and to look out for you.” She looks you square in the eye. “Can’t prove I ever said that about him, okay? Don’t even think about it. This is between you and me.”

Your phone buzzes. She ignores it.

“Y’know, I’ve seen you change a lot. You’ve been studying. Bringing in homework on time. Impressive. No trouble at all except for an occasional spat.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it needs to, Chloe.”

Uuuuuuuuugh.

“Why don’t you look like you’re having fun?”

You’re taken aback. You had expected an accusation of ulterior motives and had fully committed to giving her a heartfelt ‘fuck off’ speech, but this is strange. You hadn’t even noticed it – you are having fun, aren’t you? You were at your peak when you vandalized, thrashed somebody else’s home with the warm buzz of alcohol, blatantly ignored Blackwell’s rules about narcotics, and now…

Well.

It’s not like the itch isn’t constantly there, still, but you’ve learned to ignore it. You still want to set Blackwell on fire, sometimes, but that’s your problem.

“I liked you better when you were smiling.”

“Thanks, I know you don’t like me, anything else?”

“That’s not what I meant. You don’t really seem to… well, get along with people.”

“ _Thanks_ , anything else?”

She’s not that diplomatic, after all, and she looks like she knows it. Mrs. Grant narrows her eyes and shrugs. “Point is, I wanted to know if you’re doing okay. I know all this drama with Jefferson shook everybody up. I know it shook you up. You’re a good kid inside, even if you’ve got drama with you.”

Drama, as in _baggage_ , lady?

You’re not touched, but it’s kind of close to it. Like a ‘that was kinda cool’ feeling that somebody cares about anything else but catering to Rachel’s whim and keeping up school spirit. “I’m fine, I guess. Thanks. I need to go.”

“You can always talk to me if there’s something,” She calls after you, and you know damn well you’re not going to talk, but it’s a nice offer. Once you’re back out in the world of noise, you whip out your phone. ‘New messages’ and the obnoxious red reminder by Rachel’s icon.

 **RACHEL** : hey, meet me in about 10 minutes?? im at the wc

 **RACHEL** : hello??

 **RACHEL** : i guess I was early lol

 **RACHEL** : txt me when you get there, i gtg talk to someone

God dammit.

You head into the corridors anyway, your pace slow and steady. Within the crowds of students, where it’s almost easy to blend in, you belong. You’ve learned the hard way that sticking out is not a good image to yourself, or to anybody. It’s the reason the school has an unofficial hit list and universally hated elitists.

You silently curse your teacher for making you late, and type up a quick message to Rachel to say you’re on your way, and move to press the ‘send’ button.

Then you make a turn, stopping into your tracks.

There’s Victoria, with her back on you, moving just enough for you to tell she’s in a conversation. You almost walk away in disgust, but instead, you step into view, intending to text Rachel and ignore them as best as you can until she comes. You catch her companion out of the corner of your eye, and crane your neck with pure curiosity.

Brown hair, but not her crony’s brown. You don’t know everybody in school, but you’ve seen enough of them to have a vague idea of their faces, and this one is new. Confused, you take another quiet step forward, studying both of them.

They don’t notice you, engrossed in whatever they’re talking about.

Victoria is an elitist. She talks down to, or at least used to, to her friends and equals, looking as if she’s sizing them up. She’s Victoria, queen of Blackwell, and much as you dislike her, she’s intimidating to you, too.

She and her companion look completely relaxed. The brunette is half-leaning against the wall, and you realize you definitely don’t recognize her. She has an aura of humility around her, and her short, bony stature and sweet face don’t help the overall image of someone small and someone who definitely shouldn’t be lounging around Victoria Chase.

Wait a second.

Wait a damn second.

“You!” You growl, pointing an accusatory finger, your expression the very definition of anger. The girl looks at you, confused, and then her eyes widen. Victoria doesn’t waste time in scowling at you.

The way color drains from the girl’s face is confirmation enough for you.

“…Hi, Chloe.”

As well as this.

And that’s Max Caulfield.

Max fucking Caulfield.

Max left-and-gave-no-shits Caulfield.

Max who couldn’t send a fucking text Caulfield.

Max your-former-best-friend-gone Caulfield.

Is that the ‘surprise’ that Joyce told you about?

“Can’t you fuck off for once, Price? What’s the sudden need to bother my friends?”

“Friends? What friends? She isn’t your damn friend. Why don’t you tell me what you’re using her for? You gonna pull a prank? Humiliate her in front of the entire school? Ruin her life? You gonna laugh about it?”

Max’s eyes are just about as wide as saucers. She doesn’t even try to intervene.

“That seemed more like your thing to do,” Victoria snaps. There’s a vein popping somewhere. “Why do you always have to cause drama? What’s your fucking deal?!”

“Shut up, I wasn’t even talking to you, fuck out of my way.” You’re aware you’re causing a scene and drawing attention to yourself, but you don’t particularly care. Your blood is boiling right now, your words coming out faster than the steam, and even if you wanted to compose yourself, it’s a built-up reservoir of resentment. You look at Max, and she avoids your gaze. “So, Max, you leave for 5 years, no call no show, and you show up in Arcadia Bay, and then my school, and you won’t say shit?”

Aside from looking startled, Max appears calm, finally looking you in the eye, although reluctantly. “Give me a break,” She says, her voice low.

“Woah! What’s all of that yelling?!”

There’s Rachel. Perfect timing. You haven’t calmed down much, but it’s a start, and she looks utterly befuddled as she looks between you three.

Victoria chimes immediately. “Rachel, your freak friend came up to us while we were minding our own business and started yelling all of a sudden, control her! God!” She makes a motion to storm off. “Come on, Maxine.”

Max looks at you once, shakes her head, and jogs up to her while vainly trying to make a correction. _It’s Max, not Maxine_. You’ve heard that one before. You just can’t believe what you’re seeing. Victoria Chase, queen bitch, loudly proclaiming your meek former best friend a friend of hers, and said person believing her without a second thought.

You don’t have much sympathy right now. For anyone.

Rachel immediately drags you into the women’s bathroom. She doesn’t look particularly angry, but her gaze is piercing.

“Chloe. What happened?”

“I-“

You don’t know why, considering the adrenaline rush has dissipated, but you want to cry, or scream, or do something for a strong emotion. “I’m sorry. I made a scene.”

“I need you to know what happened.”

“You know who Max is.” Your voice is dry. “That’s the one. She just comes back into the city without notice and is now getting all cozied up with Chase-off? She didn’t even think of talking to me. That’s fucked up! And then there’s Victoria. She’s gonna play her like a damn fiddle.”

“I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” She looks calm and kind, the exact opposite. It isn’t helping you much, truthfully. “You loved her.”

Damn it, god damn it, that definitely isn’t helping you. Because, yes, maybe you loved this girl a little. Maybe you were just a bit too dependent on her before she left without a trace. Maybe you missed her too much. Maybe you cried into your pillow some nights, thinking about whether she hates you and whether that’s the reason she hasn’t called or sent a letter. Maybe you took your anger and misery in the best ways you could find, just wishing she’d call back, wishing you’d hear her talk you through your pain.

And maybe you’re just a mess, back to square one. She’s not your damn therapist. Yours wasn’t of much help to begin with.

“Ugh. I thought that was in the past. I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“She’s been in Blackwell for just a day. If you wanted to talk to her, you could. I think she’d understand.” She smiles a little bit, the same smile that she uses to say everything is alright. You’re not sure you agree with the implication. “About Victoria… what’s that about?”

“She’s going to play her like a fiddle, okay? Trust me. I know Victoria. She’s cruel.”

“She _was_ ,” Rachel corrects you. At least she agrees that Victoria has been a piece of shit, which is more than enough for you. “but if she hates someone, she makes it known. You’ve told me Max is smart, and she hasn’t proven me wrong. If Victoria wanted to gut her alive, she would be out of her reach in seconds, don’t you think?”

“Well….”

“If Victoria wants to play her like a fiddle, she’ll see through it. Don’t worry too much, okay? You’re good.”

“Damn,” You breathe out, “I sure messed up. Man.”

She’s really good at saying just the right things. Scarily good. She’s good at everything, really. You love that about her. You lift your head up, meeting her eyes, and they’re nothing but kind, if not a little bit somber. Truth is, she’s always had a kind aura on her – you just never appreciated it so much as you do now.

Someone walks into the bathroom, and you ignore them as they go into the stall. Rachel continues to stand by you, lightly tracing figures with her finger on your arm, and your heartbeat finally slows down. It’s such an intimate moment, and you wonder whether she’d ever hold you if you only asked, or if she’d ever willingly lie in your arms.

As if.

You’re the one that’s supposed to be comforting her. She’s the one that got kidnapped, used, drugged, nearly died. You blew up at someone for having to leave.

“Hey, Rachel.”

“Chloe.”

“You were going to talk to me about something?”

“Oh,” She hums, as if just remembering it. “Yeah. I was. I guess I wasn’t being too honest with you for… some things. Come on. My room?”

“Sure.”

You make the trek back to the dormitories, with you almost reaching out to hold her hand several times. Students pause to speak to her on the way, but even though nice, she politely cuts it short. You feel nice, a little smug to have her attention and hers alone, even if for a moment, even if it has to be interrupted one way or another.

Her room is clean. Last time you visited it, it was a mess of her style, a little bit of yours, clothes tossed in the corners, bed unmade. It wasn’t a disaster, not even by Wells’ standards of disasters, but a mess is still a mess. It smells faintly of lavender, like a name brand perfume in contrast to the bulk Febreeze you keep in your room.

How has Kate been, anyway? You still feel a little bad for last time’s egg and toilet paper fiasco. You’ve got a fair amount of apologizing and hanging out to do for more than one person. That’s somewhere in your list of priorities.

She locks the door behind you. You know this scenario. It usually leads to something either super sentimental, or creepy. Not that Rachel is creepy, but the whole thing with her wanting privacy, just with you, reminds you of movies and stories. You don’t know why you’re thinking about this. She wants to talk to you, and you’re thinking about horror movies. Stupid.

Rachel sits down with practiced grace, light as a feather. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

Oh.

“I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s like—I don’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural or so, but I think he’s trying to haunt me.” A deep breath. She’s still composed, somehow. You don’t understand. “I feel like I’m just gonna go back. Back to the dark room. Walk right up to it. Ask for it. Did I ask for it, Chloe?”

“What?”

“I hate it. I hate thinking about this, Chloe, but it’s like I was meant to die. I don’t feel right. I feel like I’ll just—come back, and he’ll be waiting there for me, and I’ll die like I was meant to.”

Your heart stings. She doesn’t give the impression of someone broken, but her voice is still haunted, absent. You open your mouth to reply, but clamp it shut. She’s not done. “Nobody understands. I just… _want_ to go back there, Chloe. I don’t know why I do. It feels right. It feels like—If I go, I’ll fulfil something. I don’t think I should’ve been rescued.”

“Oh, Rach-“

“Don’t say it. I know what everyone says. That I deserve to live. That I was lucky, and shouldn’t feel bad. But I almost ruined my life. If I’d been good, maybe I wouldn’t have-“

“Kate was good.” You cut her off. “She still got on the list.”

“Right. Kate. She—I asked her about her God. She told me about someone benevolent, ever-forgiving. I don’t think I’ll ever find answers, but I want forgiveness. I think it was in His will that I lived when I was meant to die. I want Him to know it was worth it. That I can be good. That I can justify my life.”

“Rachel…”

“It’s helping me. I can sleep. Maybe Jefferson is just a demon I need to banish. I don’t… really know about demons. I don’t know anything. But I’d like to learn. If this… if this thing gives people peace, then why can’t it give me some peace, too?”

You’re silent now. By all accounts, it should make sense. She’s finding her own way of leaving the past behind and embracing something positive. It should be positive, right? It’s not like she’ll go through some drastic, friendship-breaking change. She’s still Rachel. Kind, human, naive Rachel.

But you’ve never believed in a God. No God so benevolent would’ve let such a manipulative, inhuman waste of space into Rachel’s life. He wouldn’t have given him such ample alibi and reason to look so trustworthy. A snake with pretty markings and the strongest poison. And if Rachel was Eve…

Why do you even remember this?

“Can I ask you something?”

“Huh-“ You blink, “Yes?”

“Can you come with Kate and I Sunday? I think—I think I need you, Chloe. You’re the only one who understands.”

You’re not sure. No, actually, you don’t understand a thing. Still, you smile and nod, anyway. She’s been there for you during your breakdowns, through your crises, and your loneliness. You can do this one thing for her and go into a damn church.  It’s not that big of a deal.

“Alright, but I don’t know how anything works, so—“

You pause, shrugging your shoulders. She smiles tiredly, relief flowing through her veins. If you could hold her right now, you would. If you could hold a convincing ‘it’s going to be okay’ speech that isn’t generic, you would, but you don’t, and you can’t. You shouldn’t be thinking about her soft features, hardened from facades and trauma, and definitely shouldn’t be thinking about kissing it back to normalcy. Tenderly, like you’ve always wanted to—

Settle down.

“It’s easy. Doesn’t last too long. It’s the Eucharist first thing. Worship, offering, then a sermon. You eat and drink a little. Most of it boils down to prayer, singing and listening to the clergy.”

That sounds utterly boring, and you’re not going to fool yourself into thinking you’re going to sing anywhere, regardless of whether your own voice gets lost among others. Maybe that’s just the reason the entire fiasco unnerves you. Still, you nod, offering your best fake smile.

Rachel knows what she’s doing. You don’t know why you’re trying to treat her like a fragile, over-trusting child. Maybe it’s your subconscious; maybe it’s you being overprotective. Or maybe it’s just the fact that for once, by imagining Rachel as dependent on you, you can feel like you’re a little bit in control of what goes on.

And that’s just a sad thought. She’s in control of her own destiny.

And can you say the same for yourself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot whoopsa


End file.
